Answers
Returning to some questions previously raised. 23
May, Ian
When I write these blogs I provide an "abstract",
which is the snippet that comes after the title on the main page and which you
can see just above this sentence. You may have picked up on the way that I'm
using this: for most entries, which are essentially diary entries, I just give
the dates covered; for entries that are not based on events in our travels (such
as my reflections on the elections) I give a one sentence description of the
topic. Well this one is a bit of both (as, arguably, are many
others).
In some of the entries that I've posted to date I've raised some questions, and here I want to give some answers. In the spirit of that Radio 4 quiz that Peter Snow chairs (I think it's The Round Britain Quiz) and of Shooting Stars I've put each question into a category.
1 Maths Question
This wasn't actually supposed to be a question but in the Request For Three Kinds of Help entry I remarked that one of my teachers was good enough to explain to our class how to correctly evaluate expressions like 2 + 3 x 5. You may recall that at the time I guessed - incorrectly - that this particular example comes to 25. And I didn't explain how to get the correct answer, which a couple of people have asked about - my apologies for this. The correct answer is 17. This is because you have to do the times and divide parts before the add and subtract parts. At school we were taught the acronym "BODMAS", which comes from Brackets, Of, Division, Multiplication, Addition, Subtraction. I think the Of part is phoney just to make a word you can pronounce. The point is that if when you write the expression you want the reader to do the plus part first you have to write (2 + 3) X 5, dinging the B in BODMAS before the M. You can check that your calculator or spreadsheet works this way; if it doesn't get another.
2 Nature Question
In the entry Before Sunrise/Sunset in the Namibian Dunes I asked which land animal has the largest eyes? Given the ingenuity that readers of this blog have shown in responding to other matters raised I was surprised that no one got this. I was thinking of announcing this to be a roll-over week. If you want to give it another go depending on how much time you have you can either refer to the major clue at the foot of this entry (you'll find that it's harder to turn your computer upside down than your newspaper!) or solve the riddle I cunningly hid.
3 People Question
In the entry What Are We Looking for this Year? I raised a topic using the grander-sounding rubrics of existentialism and phenomenology: is there something that it's like to be a Moroccan (or a Zambian etc.)? Well, I don't have an answer yet. I did, though, have an experience today that may shed a few photons of light on the matter...
This afternoon Heidi and I caught a petit taxi to the supermarket in the ville nouvelle. (I should say that one reason that I usually go with either or both of the girls and not Paula is that the petits taxis are restricted by law to carry no more than three passengers so if we all go it's a pain.) When we left the supermarket to come back there were no taxis at the rank so we had to wait. It took a while for any taxis to show at all and when they did the first two went to a couple of local women dressed in all the gear who, it seemed to me, cut in in front of us - they certainly weren't waiting at the rank. We waited another while - and waiting is not Heidi's favourite pastime - and when the next taxi came one young guy from a group of three sprinted to intercept it ahead of us. Being somewhat dischuffed, I ranted at one of his friends, making good use of some extra French vocab I'd texted Paula to look up for me. After his initial shock he called his other mate over who, after I'd also railed at him, replied, as if this constituted a full explanation of their impolitesse, that they were Arabic, Morrocans.
A week or two ago I had a similar experience waiting at the Batha taxi rank in the medina. After I'd waited in line, Anglo-loser-style, for quite a while, courteously ensuring that the local old ladies got the first cabs, I realised that if I ever wanted to get anywhere I had to leave the line and flag a taxi down on its way in, which I then quickly did. Here's a snap of a petit taxi at Batha dropping off at the cafe just across from the taxi rank:
But today maybe my biorhythms were in a different point in the cycle (and maybe you guys just hadn't sent me enough mail!) and I started to harbour dark thoughts about the character of the locals. This, of course, is nuts, and no sooner had I started to get this way than three local guys who'd witnessed what had happened started shouting at the young guys too. This wasn't quite enough to get them to give up the taxi but it made me feel better, and another taxi came along just then, which my new friends made sure we got.
And the taxi driver was nice, and so was the guy who dismounted a horse-drawn cart, edged in the back with Heidi and scammed a lift back to the medina with us. And when we got out of the taxi three local girls of about 14 walked along with us, lavishing all sorts of praise on Heidi; they couldn't have been more delightful.
Incidentally, I should let you know that I'm rubbish at languages and it is so annoying. I can speak French well enough to be understood (as with the rude guys) but I find it really frustrating not to be at all articulate or to be able to hold a conversation that isn't a pain for my interlocutors. The taxi driver was, as most people here are, absolutely delighted whenever I could slip in one of my clutch of Arabic words or phrases. It's a real impediment not to be able to communicate more comfortably. If you can speak more than one language properly I envy you.
My point here, though, lest it be lost, is that while there may be cultural fault lines that it's tough to breech, it's easy to imagine cultural gaps that just aren't there. In this situation the three young guys (and the old women for that matter) didn't jump the queue because they were Arabic: they did it because they were rude!
This is a question to which I expect to return.
4 Gas-bottle Kid Question
This is an easy one: he kept the money and didn't come back (see the Beggary entry). What did you expect?
In some of the entries that I've posted to date I've raised some questions, and here I want to give some answers. In the spirit of that Radio 4 quiz that Peter Snow chairs (I think it's The Round Britain Quiz) and of Shooting Stars I've put each question into a category.
1 Maths Question
This wasn't actually supposed to be a question but in the Request For Three Kinds of Help entry I remarked that one of my teachers was good enough to explain to our class how to correctly evaluate expressions like 2 + 3 x 5. You may recall that at the time I guessed - incorrectly - that this particular example comes to 25. And I didn't explain how to get the correct answer, which a couple of people have asked about - my apologies for this. The correct answer is 17. This is because you have to do the times and divide parts before the add and subtract parts. At school we were taught the acronym "BODMAS", which comes from Brackets, Of, Division, Multiplication, Addition, Subtraction. I think the Of part is phoney just to make a word you can pronounce. The point is that if when you write the expression you want the reader to do the plus part first you have to write (2 + 3) X 5, dinging the B in BODMAS before the M. You can check that your calculator or spreadsheet works this way; if it doesn't get another.
2 Nature Question
In the entry Before Sunrise/Sunset in the Namibian Dunes I asked which land animal has the largest eyes? Given the ingenuity that readers of this blog have shown in responding to other matters raised I was surprised that no one got this. I was thinking of announcing this to be a roll-over week. If you want to give it another go depending on how much time you have you can either refer to the major clue at the foot of this entry (you'll find that it's harder to turn your computer upside down than your newspaper!) or solve the riddle I cunningly hid.
3 People Question
In the entry What Are We Looking for this Year? I raised a topic using the grander-sounding rubrics of existentialism and phenomenology: is there something that it's like to be a Moroccan (or a Zambian etc.)? Well, I don't have an answer yet. I did, though, have an experience today that may shed a few photons of light on the matter...
This afternoon Heidi and I caught a petit taxi to the supermarket in the ville nouvelle. (I should say that one reason that I usually go with either or both of the girls and not Paula is that the petits taxis are restricted by law to carry no more than three passengers so if we all go it's a pain.) When we left the supermarket to come back there were no taxis at the rank so we had to wait. It took a while for any taxis to show at all and when they did the first two went to a couple of local women dressed in all the gear who, it seemed to me, cut in in front of us - they certainly weren't waiting at the rank. We waited another while - and waiting is not Heidi's favourite pastime - and when the next taxi came one young guy from a group of three sprinted to intercept it ahead of us. Being somewhat dischuffed, I ranted at one of his friends, making good use of some extra French vocab I'd texted Paula to look up for me. After his initial shock he called his other mate over who, after I'd also railed at him, replied, as if this constituted a full explanation of their impolitesse, that they were Arabic, Morrocans.
A week or two ago I had a similar experience waiting at the Batha taxi rank in the medina. After I'd waited in line, Anglo-loser-style, for quite a while, courteously ensuring that the local old ladies got the first cabs, I realised that if I ever wanted to get anywhere I had to leave the line and flag a taxi down on its way in, which I then quickly did. Here's a snap of a petit taxi at Batha dropping off at the cafe just across from the taxi rank:
But today maybe my biorhythms were in a different point in the cycle (and maybe you guys just hadn't sent me enough mail!) and I started to harbour dark thoughts about the character of the locals. This, of course, is nuts, and no sooner had I started to get this way than three local guys who'd witnessed what had happened started shouting at the young guys too. This wasn't quite enough to get them to give up the taxi but it made me feel better, and another taxi came along just then, which my new friends made sure we got.
And the taxi driver was nice, and so was the guy who dismounted a horse-drawn cart, edged in the back with Heidi and scammed a lift back to the medina with us. And when we got out of the taxi three local girls of about 14 walked along with us, lavishing all sorts of praise on Heidi; they couldn't have been more delightful.
Incidentally, I should let you know that I'm rubbish at languages and it is so annoying. I can speak French well enough to be understood (as with the rude guys) but I find it really frustrating not to be at all articulate or to be able to hold a conversation that isn't a pain for my interlocutors. The taxi driver was, as most people here are, absolutely delighted whenever I could slip in one of my clutch of Arabic words or phrases. It's a real impediment not to be able to communicate more comfortably. If you can speak more than one language properly I envy you.
My point here, though, lest it be lost, is that while there may be cultural fault lines that it's tough to breech, it's easy to imagine cultural gaps that just aren't there. In this situation the three young guys (and the old women for that matter) didn't jump the queue because they were Arabic: they did it because they were rude!
This is a question to which I expect to return.
4 Gas-bottle Kid Question
This is an easy one: he kept the money and didn't come back (see the Beggary entry). What did you expect?
Posted: Tue - May 24, 2005 at 07:01 AM
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Published On: Feb 08, 2006 06:20 PM
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